


Switch me on, turn me up

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Train Sex, but also fluff, but not really, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 06:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10457418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: A train ride turns into an adventure in which Clarke meets someone new, tries something new, and learns a few things about herself as well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a list of tumblr prompts about sex toys. Pure pointless smut.

Clarke has always enjoyed long train rides. She even prefers them to flying, to be honest. There’s just something about hurtling along, cities and fields and forests rushing by outside, and not belonging to one particular place for a few hours, that helps her clear her head. Tonight is no different, even if her head is still a little heavy from last night’s champagne and cocktails and possibly Tequila – but then again, it was a bachelorette party, and one that could confidently be described as “raucous“. It was fun, as should be expected from seeing a bunch of her old college friends again, but after two days of brunches and spa treatments and champagne and gossip and of course that very special event last night, she’s also happy to be somewhere quiet, alone, for a few hours until she returns to work.

But of course, as soon as she thinks as much, a man walks by, sees her in the compartment, and stops. He seems to be pondering whether or not to come in, and Clarke mentally repeats a quiet litany of _please keep walking please keep walking_. This late, there aren’t a lot of people travelling, and she’s seen several empty compartments for him to choose from. And yet, the man slides open the door and steps inside.

“Are these seats taken?“ He asks, with a voice she can’t help but take note of, warm and deep and gravelly. Still, she resents him even as she shakes her head and allows him in, too honest to act like she’s just waiting for five other people who have already claimed the seat he’s aiming for.

Clarke is okay with travelling alone, she really is, but she’s also aware that, sadly, it isn’t always sunshine and adventures for women. Sometimes it’s ignoring unwanted looks and dodging unwanted touches and gripping her keys in her hand for the short walk from the subway station to her apartment. Of course she knows not all men are creeps like that, but plenty of them are, and she was really hoping, just tonight, that she would be allowed a reprieve from the endless game of “Threat or no Threat“ that is making contact with strange men on public transport.

To his credit, the new arrival takes the seat furthest away from her, diagonally across the compartment by the door. Unfortunately, that also means he’s blocking her exit, but for now Clarke decides she’s not going to worry about that. All she does is gather her purse closer on the seat next to her and feel for the pepper spray tucked into a side compartment, just in case. Then she quickly gets out her sketch pad, phone and ear plugs, ready to signal complete unavailability for conversation should he attempt to make it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she attempts to assess him without him noticing. Wearing jeans, boots and a dark blue sweater, and carrying a big backpack and one of those protective travel bags for suits, he looks like a fairly normal dude, a few years older than herself perhaps and a good head taller. An admitedly attractive one, with his shock of dark, curly hair, equally dark eyes and the freckles dusted across his striking features. But she knows that doesn’t say much, and she’s not in the mood for flirting right now anyway.

Of course, _that_ thought perfectly coincides with the moment he chooses to talk to her.

“So, where are you travelling this late?“

“Home,“ she replies, monosyllabic enough to make it clear she has no interest in a conversation.

“Home from business or pleasure?“

“Pleasure,“ she replies, still not exactly polite but also unable to overcome her need to please and just tell him where he can shove his small talk.

“Sounds good. Do anything fun?”

She sighs, then decides it’s best to rip off the band-aid right now.

“Look, I’m sure you’re nice and you just want to make some small talk to pass the time, but I’m really not in the habit of talking to strange dudes. So just because we both happen to be on this train, which by the way has lots of other, _empty_ compartments, it doesn’t mean we need to be friends. Alright?”

He looks a little taken aback, but there are no signs of aggression that would signal that this situation is going bad. He just nods, opens his backpack, and takes out a heavy book.

But just when she thinks she successfully got that situation handled, he speaks up once more.

“I have a sister.”

She wants to reply something scathing, repeat the “no talking”-point perhaps, but he’s already rushing out his explanation:

“That’s why I came in here. Because she’s about your age, I think, and if she was travelling alone at night, I wouldn’t want her to be bothered by creeps. Of course,” he smiles wrily, “it hits me now that that’s probably exactly what I am to you right now.”

Clarke stares at him for a moment. Of all the things, this is not something she’s heard before – and something in his sheepish expression tells her he’s not lying. 

“So I’m sorry about making you feel weird. I can leave, if you prefer…”

“What’s her name?” Clarke asks, cutting him off, and he freezes with a confused look, his hands already zipping up his backpack. The fact that he’s ready to leave without her having to tell him so is what makes her decision to let him stay. “Your sister?”

“Oh. Octavia. And I know it’s stupid to worry about her, she’s a grown-up after all, but still…” He shrugs, and that combined with his “what can you do”-expression makes Clarke feel a little bad about snapping at him before.

“I don’t think it’s stupid that you worry. I think it’s sweet. And you’re right, travelling alone can be a hassle.”

“Thank you!” He sets his backpack aside and sits back down on the seat, apparently trusting that she won’t kick him out after all. “That’s what I keep telling O, but she always just laughs it off and says she’ll be alright. Which, okay, she does know Krav Maga, so maybe I should be more worried for any dude who tries to grope her.”

Clarke laughs. “Maybe I should learn some self-defense too.”

“You definitely should,” he nods, painfully earnest, and Clarke decides then and there that he’s a good guy.

“So, Octavia’s brother, what are _you_ travelling for, business or pleasure?”

“It’s Bellamy, and the answer is both, actually. I went to a conference for work, but it was amazing and I’ve been wanting to go ever since they first announced it. So,” he grins, wide and infectious, “definitely a win-win situation.”

“That sounds awesome. What was the conference about?”

The conference title is long and full of Greek and Latin words and she doesn’t understand much of it, but Bellamy talks about it with such enthusiasm that Clarke can’t help but think that if he held a talk there in the same way, even she would enjoy it – although perhaps not for the same reasons as the other attendees. Through his report on the conference, Clarke also learns that Bellamy’s currently doing his PhD in Classic Literature, and that he’s clearly very passionate about his chosen subject (and very attractive when he rhapsodizes about said subject).

Conversation turns easily from this topic to others, like the mystery of why Bellamy is so close to his sister (he practically raised her) and why Clarke is taking the slow route home in this old train instead of just flying (med school is expensive, and while her mom is helping with tuition, she’s definitely not financing bachelorette party trips). Clarke also learns that Bellamy makes charmingly dorky jokes and has no problem laughing at her dorky jokes in return, that he has dimples when he smiles and a way of looking at her when she speaks that makes her feel like she’s the only person in the world, and these accumulated discoveries make something warm spread inside her.

It’s only much later, after she’s learned more about Greek Mythology than she honestly ever wanted to, and not nearly enough about Bellamy, that Clarke finally answers his earlier question about her reason for travelling – although not exactly under normal circumstances. Because when she gets a little chilly and decides to get a shawl out of her little trolley stashed in the overhead compartment, she’s too wrapped up in Bellamy’s current story – a retelling of some childhood adventure – to pay much attention to what she’s doing. She just zips the trolley open enough to get a grip on the shawl and tugs, completely forgetting what else she stashed there.  

What else she stashed there is a pink silk pouch, a souvenir of last night’s event, and it tumbles out and right onto the chair across from Bellamy. Before she can tell him not to touch it, he picks it up, meaning to hand it back to her.

“You dropped….”

And that’s when the stupid thing starts to vibrate, and Bellamy drops it too.

“What the hell?”

Ignoring his startled exclamation, Clarke scrambles to pick it up – only for the pouch’s strings to loosen and release its contents onto Bellamy’s lap: A small, metallic-pink, vibrating egg. Remote-controlled and now buzzing along merrily in Bellamy’s lap, while Bellamy himself is staring at it with wide eyes.

Deciding that accidentally groping her travel mate can’t possibly make this situation any worse, Clarke snatches the egg out of his lap, then finally remembers to turn it off and starts randomly pressing buttons on the remote before it turns off, although not before switching it up to vibrate with startling intensity.

Bellamy watches her fumbling with the toy for a little while before he finally asks: 

“So, do you always travel with a vibrator or….?”

“Of course I don’t! I just… We had a sex toy party.”

“A what?”

“I went to a bachelorette party. And one of the events, the best event actually,” she stresses just to make it clear that he is not to laugh about this because there’s nothing wrong with expressing one’s sexuality, “was a so-called sex toy party. It means you invite a few girlfriends over, have ridiculous amounts of champagne and fruity drinks, and have a saleswoman show you a bunch of sex toys. And that’s where I bought it. Which is why I have it in my bag now.”

“I see,” Bellamy says, although he doesn’t _really_ look like he does.

“It’s a better investment than a stripper.” Clarke doesn’t really know why it seems so important to defend this, but suddenly she’s giving Bellamy a lecture on female sexuality he definitely did not ask for. “I mean, so what if I went to a sex toy party? It’s harmless, silly fun, yes, but it’s also a great way to exchange tips and ask questions and generally try to enhance one’s enjoyment of sex in a safe, nice environment. Plus, every woman should have one or two good toys.”

“I agree.”

“And men can just…. What?”

“I said I agree. Everyone should know what gets them off. If that includes experimenting with toys and exchanging tips at a sex toy party, then so be it.”

“Exactly.” Clarke nods, and then, because her lecture has sort of fizzled out, sits back down in her seat by the window and stuffs the toy back into its pouch, trying not to look too embarrassed about it after she just preached to Bellamy about the importance of expressing one’s sexuality. Still, in her fiddling, she accidentally turns it on once more, very aware of the fact that Bellamy’s watching with barely concealed interest.

“Packs quite a punch for such a little thing, doesn’t it?” he observes, almost casually, and if he hadn’t already revealed his Classic Literature background, she’d guess he was an engineering nerd like Raven, more interested in the mechanics of the little gadget than in the things it could do to a body. But then, the way his eyes travel from the vibrating egg back to her suggests that maybe that’s exactly what he’s thinking about.

“Is it any good?” There’s nothing more to his voice than polite interest, and for all she knows, he could be thinking about buying one for his girlfriend. But his eyes are darker than they were before, and Clarke feels a little flutter in her stomach, a little thrill at discussing something like this with him.

“They showed each toy at the party, turned it on so we could see what it does, but I haven’t had a chance to try it in action yet. That was my plan for when I get home tonight, actually.” She regrets the words the moment they come out and her face flushes impossibly bright. “Holy mother of overshares, that was too much information, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Again, he tries to sound casual, but there’s a scratch in his voice that tells her it isn’t working entirely. And then he swallows hard, leans towards her, and suggests: “Wanna try it now?”

“Now… _here_?” She glances over to the window in the compartment’s door, where anyone walking by would have a clear view on them. Although, the train is one of those old models with curtains on the door, so they could always close them for a modicum of privacy… She stops herself midway through the thought, startled to realise that she’s actually considering this.

“I can shield you from view if anyone comes in. And it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do.”

“We? So you’d be a part of this?” She cocks an eyebrow, not willing to let him know just how fucking much his insane suggestion turns her on.

“Only if you want me to.” Then, thinking for a moment, he adds: “And if you’re actually horrified by this whole conversation and just don’t know how to tell me, I can grab my stuff and be out of your sight and not bother you again, I promise.”

“I’m not horrified,” she blurts out, way too eager, and he smiles. “I like the idea. It’s… it’s pretty hot.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not into exhibitionism or anything like that though, so you better make sure we don’t get caught.”

“Done!” Bellamy exclaims, then scrambles to his feet to turn off the lights over their seats and close the curtains over the window in the compartment door. His eagerness is endearing and reassuring, telling her that clearly, he doesn’t do these kinds of things all the time either.

She reaches for the toy still on the table before her, closing trembling fingers around the smooth, oblong shape. She took it out of its packaging right after buying it and then immediately washed it to get rid of the plasticky smell, so she has nothing to fear from putting it on her skin. 

Suddenly, it buzzes to life in her hands, and Clarke immediately drops it into her lap in fright. Looking up, she finds Bellamy sitting in the seat next to her, the toy’s remote in his hand and a mischievous grin on his face.

“Ready?”

“Not really, no.” As much as she regrets it, it’s the truth: She likes the idea, but the thought of turning it into a reality suddenly seems like a huge step to take, and she’s not sure she can take it alone.

But she isn’t, she remembers when Bellamy leans closer. He lays his hand over hers where she’s clutching the egg in her lap, trembling even though the vibrations have stopped, and she notices idly how big it is.

“I don’t want to pressure you into this. If you don’t want to, we’ll put it away, talk about something else, and agree that it will be a fun story you can tell your friends from the bachelorette party one day.”

“I do want to try this. I just…” her head feels like it’s about to explode, she’s so flushed. “I just don’t like a cold start. Usually, I work myself up a little before I bring my toys into it. So,” she swallows hard and sees him do the same thing almost simultaneously. “I have to do that first.”

“Oh. Okay.” he replies, clearly as nervous as she is, and Clarke almost despairs. She can’t have him be nervous when she’s nervous too, she needs one of them to be confident that this is a good idea. But before she can even voice those thoughts, Bellamy pulls himself together.

“Anything I can do to help?”

She nods, and then, before she can freak out about this too, she surges forward and kisses him.

It doesn’t take more than a heartbeat for him to react, pull her closer by her waist with one hand and curl the other around the back of her head, a possessive move she’s always liked. It spurs her on enough to take his hand and move it a little higher on her waist, so that his fingertips are just brushing the curve of her breast, and he gets the hint and lets his hands start to travel, up and down her arms and sides first before he gets bolder and cups her breasts, softly kneading them with a contented little hum before brushing his palms over her nipples where they’re beginning to poke through her lace bra and thin sweater.

He eplores her slowly, teasingly, but he still steadily gets her blood pumping faster and faster.

When his hand slowly travels up her thighs to slip beneath her denim skirt, Clarke doesn’t stop him. On the contrary, she’s more than happy to wiggle her hips and push her leggings down to her knees. The back of her skirt provides at least a minimal barrier between her and the train seat, while the front rucks up enough to reveal the edge of her navy blue panties.

Bellamy lets his fingertips ghost up and down her thighs, carefully stopping just short of the edge of her panties. She allows it for a moment, enjoying the warm touch of his hands on her bare skin, before she gets impatient again, catches his hand in hers, and places it right on her center. His fingertips come to rest on her folds, the wetness gathering there apparent through her cotton underwear, and they both suck in a sharp breath at the contact.

“I take it you’re ready now?” He murmurs into her ear, then proceeds to suck on her earlobe and she shudders.

“More than ready.”

His hand slips into her underwear then, dancing up and down her folds before slipping between them for a moment to gather up the wetness pooling there and spread it out thoroughly.

“You’re so wet,” he marvels, and Clarke blushes once more but still feels an odd flash of satisfaction.

“Told you I’m ready,” she chirps, but before she can gloat about it – not entirely sure what there is to gloat about seeing as her current state is mostly his work – he’s switched on the vibrating egg and is running it up and down the outside of her panties and Clarke yelps in surprise.

“You like that?” He rasps, but before she can do more than nod he’s kissing her again, harder and more urgent this time, and soon the egg slips into her underwear and Clarke gasps into his mouth at the pleasure rippling out from where he nudges it against her clit.

“There?”

She nods and he starts moving the tip of the little vibrator against her, tiny circles around her clit that hit at least three of her favourite spots and that soon have her panting and sighing.

“ _Fuck_ , Bellamy…” she breathes out his name, and he chuckles against her neck. 

“Maybe next time, hm?”

She doesn’t really grasp the implications of his reply, too busy melting into a puddle right here on this ancient train seat, and by now she’s even too far gone to worry about anyone coming in and catching them like this. Bellamy can make sure they aren’t caught, she decides and lets her head fall back against the headrest, her eyes slip close in bliss.

“That’s right, just relax…” Bellamy murmurs softly, his voice becoming almost hypnotic, and Clarke lets it wash over her along with the pleasure created by the toy in his hands. She slips her own hands under her shirt to tease at her nipples, thankful that she opted for a thin, lacy bra instead of one with thick cups this morning, and hears Bellamy’s breath hitch by her ear when he realises what she’s doing.

“You need to touch your tits to come?”

“I don’t _need_ to,” she explains breathlessly, “It’s just that usually I only have one free hand when I do this.”

“I’m happy to lend a hand,” Bellamy replies, laughter in his voice, and through the haze of lust she thinks that it’s a voice she’d like to hear more often. “Now, let’s see if this thing delivers.”

With that, he turns the bullet’s vibration up several levels and she lets out a sort of half-squeak, half-grunt that would embarrass her if she wasn’t so far past embarrassment already. Suddenly, the pleasure reaches a whole new intensity until it’s almost too much, and she’s writhing in her seat and feverishly tugging at her nipples and everything inside her is pulling tighter, tighter…

“You gonna come for me, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, or perhaps it’s an order, pressing hot kisses to the side of her neck, and when she breathes out “Almost there,” he turns the intensity of the egg up one more time and she falls apart, her body flinging itself over the edge with blissful abandon.

Bellamy switches the vibrator down a few levels but keeps lightly trailing it up and down her slit as she rides out her orgasm, one hand still buried under her sweater and the other curled around his arm. With the hand that isn’t holding the vibrating egg Bellamy is softly stroking her hair, a soothing gesture that contributes to her general sense of floating on air, simultaneously heavy and light somehow, and hyper aware of every point on her body where Bellamy is touching her – including the vibrator that’s still humming along softly, barely touching her so as not to overstimulate.

“That was….” she breathes out, turning her head to smile dazedly at Bellamy, “pretty good.”

She’s pretty sure he knows “pretty good” is not what that was, judging by her limp body, sweaty hair and blissed-out smile, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind the blatant understatement. He looks at her like she’s one of his mythological figures come to life, awe and hunger and something else, something softer that makes her curious.

“That was fucking _hot_. Think you can do it again for me?”

She laughs softly – it makes her practically glow to hear how much he enjoyed seeing her like this, but in her post-orgasmic limp-noodle-state, the idea of repeating it right away seems preposterous.

Except Bellamy doesn’t seem to think so: His eyes are hard and hot now and Clarke realizes he’s not joking – which, apparently, is also a turn-on for her. Clearly, she’s learning a lot about herself today.

She quirks her lips and cocks an eyebrow. “Think you can make it happen again?”

Her reply is a challenge and he takes it as such, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss while his free hand slips under her shirt to take up the work her own hands have abandoned by now.

She doesn’t usually find it easy to come twice in a row, but somehow, with Bellamy’s left hand alternately petting and pinching her hard nipples through the lace of her bra and his right pressing the bullet to her clit, she comes again within seconds, hard, and she has to bury her face in his shoulder to keep from moaning out loud as she convulses beneath him, riding the wave of white-hot pleasure until the stimulation becomes too much and she scrambles to push his hand and the toy off her sensitive clit.

Through half-lidded eyes, she watches as he quickly wraps the toy in a paper tissue, then turns his attention back to her, peppering her neck with kisses while his hand softly caresses the sensitive skin of her stomach, muscles twitching under his palms as she slowly, slowly comes down from her high.

“You are…” _amazing_ , she wants to say, but is interrupted by an announcement over the loudspeaker as their next stop approaches.

“Shit, that’s my stop!”

Despite his sudden panic, Bellamy remembers to pull up her leggings and sort of wriggle down her skirt again before he jumps up to gather his things. It’s just one more stop to hers after this, Clarke notes with interest, and then feels immediately stupid because does she _really_ want to meet him again, this stranger who made her orgasm on a train after she knew him for just a few hours?

The answer her mind and body shout out in unison is “Fuck yes!”

Luckily, Bellamy’s thoughts seem to be going in the same direction.

“Listen, I’m sorry for running off like this, but as weird as it sounds, I’d like to continue this,” he lets his eyes rake over her while he fishes around in his backpack for something, causing a fresh wave of heat to flare up inside her at the hunger in his gaze and the unmistakeable bulge in his jeans she spots before he hides it hind behind the suit travel bag, “so if you’ve got any more new toys that need breaking in, call me.” 

With that, he slaps down a crumpled piece of paper and jots down a phone number with the pen he unearthed from his backpack, then sets it down on the empty chair next to her. “Or if you just want to grab a coffee. I don’t have a toy kink or anything. I seriously just think you’re very cute.”

This would be a lot to process under any circumstances, but with her mind and body heavy and sluggish and her clit still twitching with the aftershocks of her last orgasm, it takes all of her effort just to croak out:

“Sure.”

He smiles brightly and then, as the train pulls into the station, he leans forward to press one more quick kiss to her lips.

“Best train ride ever.”

Then he sprints off, and out of the window, she sees him jump off the train and wave to her once more before the train moves on.

Oh yes, she thinks to herself and carefully pockets his number, that was one crazy ride indeed.


End file.
